Caged bird
by cryptic.kaffee
Summary: Russia is tired of having to wait for America. He wants him now, and nothing is allowed to stand in his way. Except...for a certain colony named England. (I haven't decided whether or not this'll be a one-shot. Please give me your feedback.) Noncon/rape RusAmerica and hints of UKUS/ USUK
1. All mine

Another choked scream reverberated loudly against the halls and dirty floorboards of the stone fort, only intensifying the broken sobs that followed the rips of pain being torn mercilessly from its host.

"AMERICA!" England yelled, trying to increase the power in his voice to increase its threatening tone. But he still could not mask the utter horror and fear buried not far beneath his own shakily spoken words.

Arthur hopelessly turned in repetitive circles, eyes searching frantically for a path, an opening, anything, towards the sound of those shrieks. This place was nothing short of a maze. He could barely think, could barely breathe. Those heart-wrenching sounds brought true, hellish terror to England. He could truthfully say that he had never heard anything like it.

Chartreuse eyes widened to reach breaking point as yet another cry of agony reached his ears. He wanted desperately to reach into himself and tear his innards and own conscious to shreds; England did not want to be the to-be witness of such torture that he knew his beloved Alfred was surely being subjected to. It already killed him to even think of what was happening to the poor boy, but what truly finished Arthur was the knowledge that he could do practically nothing to release that angel from Hell.

There. Look to your left, go forward and at full-speed.

Run, run, run!

England didn't know what part of him told his mind such a thing and would be able to confirm a potential opening through this maze to be true, only that his whole form seemed only too happy to comply. Before he was even aware of his own actions, he found himself racing towards a dank, seemingly empty area of black and nothingness. He had already checked this spot. There had been nothing else here but one worn mat, and piles of empty, yellowed scrolls. Why would he want to check over thrice times?

'Look again anyway, git. Do you really want to take chances with Russia? You of all people should be perfectly aware of what the man is capable of, especially in the ownership of hostages.'

Arthur shivered and felt his black-gloved hands shake madly. He did know what the Russian man did with his tools; he'd played as bystander to many of Ivan's ideas of "entertainment."

_Dead, bloodied corpses scattered half-hazardly everywhere. Women, children, and man alike had an array of disembodied features, and close to all of them had several missing limbs. They looked like worn puppets that had failed to please their master, and had been left to burn. Russia did not believe in hostages, nor did he even acknowledge the phrase itself. He would stop at nothing to reach his own sickening, mad goals. Standing towards the sloped edge of the room was the one responsible for the guts and spilled dreams covering the checkered floor, making its usually spotlessly clean surface a nauseating shade of deep burgundy. _

_Arthur did not seem to take physical form in such a time as now. He was grateful for it; the madman had not yet had taken sight of him. Purple fire reigned crazily in Ivan's insane eyes; a look of pure glee had settled itself on every detail forming Russia's entire being. The exhilaration of murder seemed to touch the silver-haired man's already ice-cold soul, and freeze it into nothingness. His lips curled into an innocent, almost child-like smile as he reached out. His fingers were covered in what was plainly blood._

"_Won't you join me?"_

England's fingers descended upon what his nerves instantly registered as a trap door. It felt silky, as though somebody had taken the time to cover it in wrap. A quite, almost entirely silent 'clink' came into existence as Arthur pushed roughly upon the rusted knob sitting just above its occupant.

He looked down into the opening below, and his eyes were met with darkness, with the kind of black that seems to push up on your eyes and threaten eternal obscurity from the light of day. England had only been searching this fort for only ten minutes and he already missed the sunshine.

Another shriek of pure torment sounded below, violently shoving away every ounce of Arthur's uncertainty and fear, and replacing it with cold determination. He firmly shut his eyes closed. His fists tightened as he forced himself to lower one foot down closer to the inky blackness. It was now or never.

It took every drop of his willpower to prevent himself from howling out. Freezing air whooshed past his ears at incredible speeds. It made his blond hair whip back and forth across his cheeks, only adding to the sting of sub-arctic temperatures already stinging his face. The haunting feeling of weightlessness now hit his immobilized body at full force.

Arthur barely had time to wonder when this seemingly never-ending tunnel would end when he felt something push down on his leg. It was almost completely unrecognizable at first, but whatever it was gradually increased in composition. England's skin might not have actually been touching the material he had landed on itself, but he could still easily recognize the…material to be maybe plastic?

The balls of his feet ached in what felt like age-old pain as his feet hit solid ground once more (as he had to jump off of the surface he had originally landed on). He was pleasantly surprised that his knees had not buckled underneath his own weight the second he was subjected back to gravity, seeing as they presently felt like lead.

Chilled ozone found its way towards Arthur's pale face, and its coolness made him shiver so hard the vibrations must have rattled his spine. The walls had a dusted, lifeless look to them as though they had not seen more than itself in a lifetime. The stone floor had the same appearance of dullness; the darkened rug covering its bitter surface did absolutely nothing to enhance its boring shade.

England ignored the way his boots echoed maddeningly loud across the narrow pathway. He could see a wood door just up ahead. This place looked like a dungeon, and that was what again made Arthur hesitate before pushing onward at yet another scream. Only this time, there was a second voice to go along with his dear Alfred's. He couldn't make out the words, only their taunting tone.

"America!" he once again howled, not bothering to keep his voice down. He had no idea whether or not anyone through that door had heard him, or was even aware of his presence.

His heels smacked painfully on the solid floor again and again as the unopened portal to the victim creating those screams was most definitely hidden, and as much as the injury hurt to the extent of the increasing threat of his skin rupturing and forcing blood unto the ground, he could not bring himself to care.

The door grew closer and closer. Arthur's emerald eyes widened with strained tension as his hand touched the frost covered handle. He swung the knob open with such force it almost broke off.

Russia's amethyst eyes met with England's darkened ones, his irises were so blackened in anger that they now had the appearance of bottle green in precise shade. Ivan had been aware of the Englishmen's presence long before he had opened that door; he knew this hot-headed British colony would come for America. Anything, that was what England would do to rescue the man lying, completely helpless and at his mercy, in between Ivan's legs.

And Russia could not say he blamed the island country; America truly was a sight to behold. Who would have been able to resist that lovely, toned tanned skin? Could anyone ever of had the true right to touch those untidy, but somehow still straight locks of golden hair that fell temptingly into the American's sparkling wide teal eyes? Did anyone dare deny having Alfred's pert lips touching, speaking words of life and adventure?

So many reasons had pushed Russia to make his dreams a reality; he had made his new pet completely irresistible. Didn't America's flesh call to you so much more when painted in such a beautiful shade of red? His new scars and bruises marked the boy as Ivan's. His once carefree and bright eyes had become broken and dimmed to a royal blue, but still, didn't that darkened cobalt fit him so much better than any range of sky? And in the dark, Alfred's hair seemed so desperate as to catch the light of day that any radiance stuck in the blond locks danced, polished and gleaming, as if the beams were rays of life itself. It made him look like an angel that had lost its way from the gates of heaven. Ivan loved making America scream. Loved to make him moan and cry his name over and over again.

This would be very fun.

He smiled innocently at the very angry blond standing with his fists clenched at his sides in front of him. "Privet, England," he said cheerfully, running one hand through his (_his_) Alfred's tussled sun-kissed hair. Ivan hadn't looked down, but he could feel America wince and shiver at his gentle, almost loving touch.

Arthur's hackles rose, and a snarl formed on his face at the Russian's carefree tone of voice. He could already sense trickery. "Don't play games with me, you sick bastard. You wanted me here, and now I am. I won't stand for your foul-play-"

Ivan interrupted him mid-sentence, eyes brightening considerably. "Ah, so you did receive custom of my letter, da? It certainly took you long enough. Alfred and I," Ivan's leer turned menacing and he roughly cupped America's face in his hands from behind, "were wondering if you would ever come." Russia again turned child-like as his grin once again became innocent. He gently slid a finger down America's tear-stained face.

"I know Alfred was especially awaiting your arrival."

England unconsciously fisted his knuckled at the sound of a deep chuckle rolling from Russia's throat when America started to shake uncontrollably at the feeling of skin on his cheeks. Ivan's fingers were so cold they could be dead, and the same could be said for the man's breath. He was to close for Alfred's liking.

Once again, Arthur spoke up. His teeth bared and he moved just a foot closer to America and the madman holding him. "Fine then, give me whatever bloody demands you have! I don't care, just let America go! There is no reason for him to become involved in our affairs! Do what you will with me, but my _son _has no role in this! What does holding him as bait have to do with our two countries?"

Ivan smiled infuriatingly again, and adjusted himself calmly so that Alfred was sitting cozily on his lap. Not that America found it a comfortable position at all.

"On the contrary, England, my sunflower has everything to do with it." He said quietly, looking down toward the blond and continuing to wipe the now rapidly falling tears away from Alfred's face with the back of his knuckles. "I did not ask for your presence because of our history as nations, but as a deal. In your English colonies I think this process is called blackmailing, da?"

Arthur did not register the larger man's words at first. His lips twitched almost painfully as he very slowly, but surely inched his way closer to his former colony. He almost didn't care about Russia's "system", no, fuck that barmy, he just wanted to get America out of this nightmare in one piece.

Ivan seemed to take England's silence as a sign to continue.

"You see, I really have no interest in you whatsoever. It is just that I have wanted Alfred's land for a very long time, almost since the day he came into existence. But, unfortunately, you and France, and even that Spaniard all had a similar interest in America, da? I had no chances to get close enough to claim such a country.

"So I set my sites lower. I waited. I was patient. I went throughout history watching the world around me advance and adapt to new challenges, but did not make any moves until the Cold War. And, well, we all know how that ended."

Russia's grip on the American tightened, so that Alfred had to bit his already bleeding lip to keep himself from crying out.

"I knew many years later after our two country's skirmish that alone, I most likely would not be able to take down the U.S. alone." He grudgingly admitted. "It had become blatantly obvious to me that if I wanted to take sweet Alfred for my own, I would have to wait just a bit longer until disaster struck.

"I did not have to wait long."

-England kept his eyes level with Russia's. He could jump him when he was least expecting attack.-

"But even if I, as my country's personification, did take America himself, there was still the problem of taking the nation itself. This is where you come in, North Ireland." Ivan was not smiling anymore, and he stared at England with a deadpan expression.

"I need your power to claim ruler ship. Think of what we could do with such capacity. You could keep to yourself and have nothing to do with me, and, in return, we both are rewarded with American soil, and I will keep a promise not to break the Real America."

The last words spoken from Russia's mouth snapped Arthur. England's face contorted in utter rage as he, without thinking, lunged straight for the Russian's throat (which was, surprise, surprise, covered with his usual scarf).

Ivan's smile did not fade or vanish at the sudden show of aggression. Moving with almost inhuman speed, he shoved Alfred underneath him carefully so as not to crush the boy, and served as a shield to England's attack.

Arthur slammed down hard down onto Russia's back as though it was concrete, successfully knocking the little air he had in his lungs back into the dry air. The second Ivan felt the extra weight added to his spine, he spread the palms of his hands flat-out unto the cold, tiled floor, and pushed off from the weight he had built in his hunches.

The unexpected, and sudden movements sent England flying backwards into the air. A thud resounded throughout the room as he came into contact with the stone behind him; Alfred felt panic flood his systems. He resisted the urge to shove the commie bastard away and run to help Arthur.

Russia's hand brushed against America's just as Ivan moved to get back on his feet. The silver-haired man purposefully moved his thigh closer to his sunflower's legs, and rubs their covered skin together for just a moment. Russia could already feel himself shiver (it had nothing to do with the cold) even as he had stood once again, towering over the still hunched over form that was Alfred.

Ivan wanted so bad to reach down and murmur soothing words to the other, for he can see the blatant fear on the man's face. Wanted to reach down and meet America's mouth with his own. The moment just seems perfect.

If it weren't for the other Western nation groaning in pain, and curled with his knees to his chest, that is.

Russia is right at England's side once again as the blond turns to stare up into his face. Defiance and hate are clear in the Brit's dark eyes.

Some people just never learn.

From what seems to be out of thin air, Ivan pulls a steeled metal pipe from…wherever the hell it came from, and pushed it under Arthur's chin, roughly forcing those chartreuse eyes to look him full on in the face.

"England," he says coldly, but with that same smile. "I take it your answer is a "no"? That is too bad, da? Think of how far my government would have gotten you.

Arthur's throat tightened just as he was about to spit that his own nation ran just fine without any Russian's help. He never got the chance to tell Russia what a self-concieted bastard he had turned himself into.

"And now," Ivan whispered, "now I truly do have America for my own. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me from taking what I want."

Arthur sees the intent behind those deceptively innocent heliotrope eyes. They tell him his fight without words.

'_You are a dead man.'_

With a last threatening leer, Russia turns away from England's view-point, and starts once more towards Alfred. Arthur opened his mouth to warn America (who had his eyes shut tightly in horror) of the oncoming Russian, but all that comes out is a strangled howl and gasp. He can practically feel his side bleeding, and, forces his hands closer to his surely disfigured ribs.

The moist feel of blood grew on England's fingers.

America squeaked out in surprise as he felt a vice-like grip pull him upwards, and face-first into soft material. Despite himself, Alfred still can't help but allow a dusty pink to coat his face as he was pushed closer to Ivan's chest. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes; they fell shamelessly down his face as he struggled in the other person's hold to catch a glimpse of Arthur. Russia eventually pulled America into a deep hug, running his hands through Alfred's messy hair in a comforting manner.

"Now, now, do not force me to knock you unconscious too, love," Ivan murmured soothingly in Russian as the blond continued to resist against his hold, nuzzling his face into the crook of America's warm neck. Alfred freezes immediately at the sudden contact, and Ivan takes America's shock as obedience.

"Good, sunflower."

England's eyelids slid farther and farther down to the threat of closing completely, and the last thing he sees before descending into blackness is Russia hoisting America over his back. Alfred's terrified eyes and the break in his eyes.

'I will save you, Alfred.'

Arthur does not know if his silent message reached its receiver, he tried to give the American a sign through an understanding.

Then he only knows darkness.


	2. Unescapable

**WARNING!**

**This chapter is rated "M". It is strongly advised that any minors (or people that are extremely uncomfortable with noncom) leave immediately.**

**You have been warned.**

* * *

America's heel dug further into the sheets as he desperately fisted his hands, and tugged harder and harder away from the hand cuffs. He didn't care if he had to chop off his own hand; he would do anything to free himself.

Alfred grit his teeth and bared them into a snarl as fat droplets of blood rolled down from his palm and smeared his wrist with red. A sharp stinging sensation raced up his arm from the cut. He would worry about getting a tetanus shot later.

"DAMNIT!" America roared furiously, real frustration and dumb panic replacing his previous confusion. Twisting his body madly, he forced legs high into the air, and kicked his boot fiercely down onto the metal chains.

America knew what this situation meant, and did not at all want to stick around to experience the end of such a story. This kind of thing did not happen to heroes. Duh. Everybody knew that. Hero's saved the victims; they didn't play the roles.

His struggles did not stop, but only increased at the sound of an awfully familiar chuckle sound from the doorway.

The cuffs clanked loudly as Alfred pounded them against the wooden bed frame. His eyes had gone bright and wide with terror. Dark blooms of red flowers appeared on the soft white sheets, and many more buds flourished within the surface underneath the American.

America just about flew a foot into the air as bi-polar fingers lightly, almost gently slipped down his neck.

Alfred jerked his head away, blond hair flying into his face, and fell stomach-up in attempt to move as far as possible away from his captor. It was no shock to America at all when he was met with the sight of a pair of amethyst eyes, dark with lust and already obvious want.

Russia cocked his head slightly to the side. "Privet, America," he greeted softly, eyes scanning the other's body. Alfred immediately moved up against the wall, scrambling ungracefully when his head hit rock-hard material, and almost falling down onto his butt again.

He should have known

"Hello yourself, asshole," America snarled hatefully, glaring at the perfectly calm man standing over him. Russia did not seem perturbed by the other country's aggressiveness. He simply smiled, and slipped his hands again over America's collar bone. Alfred's scowl faltered slightly, and he unconsciously felt himself shiver.

_Hero's don't need to be saved if they never live out the victim's role. That is a job for the ones needing saving._

"Ah… Don't touch me, you sick fuck!"

Another smirk from Russia. He let his hand travel further down until it was touching the hem of America's shirt, slowly pressing growing weight to the thin material.

The effect was instantaneous.

Ivan easily dodged a sloppy kick aimed toward his head, grabbing at his pet's flying ankles. Alfred hissed in pain as his head was pushed into the solid bed frame. He could already feel blood soak his skin from the impact.

He gulped as he felt tears start in his eye from the pain, trying as best as he could to bite the wetness back. America refused to cry in front of Russia.

Alfred heard a chuckle resound from above him.

"_Tut-tut_, Fredka," Russia laughed. He moved to straddle America's hips with that insane grin still on his face. Alfred violently jerked away as the bigger man reached down to pull his face between his thumb and fore-finger, trying his absolute hardest not to look the Russian in the eye. His actions only seemed to make Ivan even more amused.

Russia leaned down and put his lips to America's ear. Alfred could feel the other's ice-cold breath on his neck and his silvery hair slip onto his face.

"You lose this round, da? You didn't put too much of a fight, did you?" Russia plastered a contemplating look to his face, grinning victoriously. "Even I never would have guessed the great nation of Amerika could succumb so easily to his very worst enemy. Who would have thought a hero such as yourself to be so needy as to not even attempt resistance against the captor?"

America just stared at Russia, mouth agape in utter disbelief.

What did he mean saying that he hadn't resisted? Hadn't he struggled for freedom after only awaking moments before? He already itched for exemption for this to-be nightmare.

Or, even better, to give Russia a good punch across that stupidly grinning face and a broken jaw to boot.

There was only one reasonable explanation.

"You're insane," Alfred muttered, eyes wide with disgust and shaking his blond head. "You're insane!" he screamed again, trying, without success, to lash out at the Russian.

Before America could register what was happening, before Ivan once again caught his madly squirming body in his hands by grabbing at his hips, he felt pressure against his lips. Then his mouth.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

America felt all the air escape his lungs as Russia forced himself closer to him, hands clawing greedily at his hips and smashing his mouth against the American's. Alfred felt pure panic flood his systems. This wasn't happening to him.

He couldn't breathe. This was nothing more than a bad dream; a nightmare.

Only the sharp sting from Ivan's fingernails proved that it wasn't. The cool feeling shoving onto Alfred's mouth was all too real.

Alfred wanted desperately to shove the commie off, but even after digging his nails into Russia's massive shoulders until the drew blood, the Russian would not budge.

Ivan smirked gloatingly against the blond's lips as he felt America's fruitless attempts at pushing him off. The vice-like grip and blood that followed from his shoulder and dripped down his coat did not bother him in the least. He had made sure his dear Alfred had been sedated before knocking him out cold and dragging him for their…meeting, which had greatly weakened the younger country.

Ivan was, undoubtedly, a bit too sure of his _outstanding_ abilities dealing with 'persuasion' at times, but he had had enough experience throughout history warning him never to become too cocky or overconfident; A lesson that America dearly needed to learn.

Russia intended to teach him.

Releasing the other's lips and freeing Alfred from what Ivan told himself was a deeply passionate kiss, America gulped in large, unsteady breaths of much needed air. The very last thing Ivan would want is for his new lover to pass out so early in their lovemaking from lack of oxygen.

If Alfred had been completely sure of what was sure to happen next, fainting would have been a blessing.

"Y-you piece of commie shit!" America gasped, blushing deeply and tearing at his throat. "Don't touch me! I demand that you-"

Alfred was cut off from finishing his threat as Russia giggled innocently and buried his face into America's exposed neck. Ivan loved how the other nation stiffened whenever he so much as touched him.

"Fredka," he whispered huskily starting to kiss his way to America's jaw, "You talk too much. Sit still; I do not understand why you are so tense. You should be enjoying this too, da?

"I would only want enjoyment for my pets as well."

America's eyes went dark with anger.

"I'm not your 'pet', you sick fuck!" Alfred snarled, pushing his hands on Russia's still clothed chest, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. "Don't refer to me as such!"

Ivan felt those hands on his body, and they only gave him that feeling of need so much more. He took America's clear resistance as a sign of mutual want.

Russia's facial expression did not change in the slightest as he raised himself from Alfred's soothingly warm neck, and carelessly shrugged his heavy coat off of his muscled, pale frame. He threw it negligently to the floor; not taking his eyes from America's the whole time.

Despite himself, Alfred couldn't help but stare at the Russian's robust chest. Even considering the situation he was stuck in, he couldn't help but be slightly fascinated at the sight.

Because of Russia's constant use of his thick coat and his refusal to ever discard it, America had always assumed Russia was just a fat-ass. So Alfred did feel the smallest bundle of surprise at the toned waist, arms, and stomach.

Ivan saw America staring, and his childish smile turned into a smirk.

"Like what you see?" Ivan asked seductively, working on the buttons attached to Alfred's plain shirt. America's face burned again, and he felt chilly air hit him from the waist up as his chest was exposed to the freezing air. America repressed a shiver.

Trying to look at anything but the other country above him, Alfred replied shakily, "N-no. Anything's better than having to look at your stupid face."

America breathed in a deep breath.

"I always thought you were obese, or something."

A soft laugh rumbled from Russia as his hands moved to grope at America's waist, and slowly pull the pants separating him from his prize. He applied enough pressure to his knees resting on Alfred's thigh to warn the other not to move. Not like he had a choice, though. Nobody would've been able to so much as even shift under the colossal Russian's waist.

Ivan felt expectancy shiver up his spine as the very last article of clothing was removed from his dear Fredka's body. His eyes roved greedily over the American's body, taking in every last detail.

The tanned, toned skin.

Those bluer-than-life eyes, now presently widened in fear.

The messy gold hair.

Perfection.

Russia almost lost the small amount of control he still had in him when he felt America tremble at his touch.

As much as Ivan wanted, _needed_ this to happen, he was still unsure of what he needed to do. Yes, he had made love before, but he could not recall the last time he had committed it like this.

He had instantly decided that he wanted to take the younger the moment America was unfortunate enough to find himself in such a pitiful position, but it was nevertheless difficult to know where to begin.

Russia smiled gently, and kissed his way down Alfred's stomach, dipping his tongue just over the other's limp member. He did not feel like playing today. Ivan knew exactly what he wanted to do.

"This will be your first time with me, da?" he said to America, removing his pants and unbuckling his belt. He was met only with shocked silence and scared blue eyes.

That terrified eye.

Russia slid one icy hand down Alfred's thigh and used his other hand to slip three wide fingers into the American's hole. America instantly hissed and spat at the burning pain that raced throughout his body, kicking aimlessly at Ivan which only provided the Russian man better access to push the digits in further.

Ivan reveled at the sounds America was already making. He sounded so sweet, and for just a moment, Russia had the strained curiosity to wonder if Alfred would taste just as delectable as he sounded.

He could figure that out later.

America made one last gasp of pain as Russia none too gently pulled his fingers out from inside of him, only to whimper once more as he felt a pair of hand lift his legs up onto broad shoulders. Russia positioned himself in between Alfred's legs, and lowered his gaze.

"Да здравствует землю бесплатно."

Pain.

Screaming.

_This is surely Hell._

_This is surely Heaven._

Tears unwilling spilt in thick drops and poured like waterfalls down America's face. He had never been in so much pain. No war had ever hurt him this badly; no emotional trauma had ever caused him such misery. Even Japan's unprovoked attack on Pearl Harbor and his secession from England felt pathetic and unimportant in comparison to this.

The white-hot flames licking at his innards and tearing him apart from the inside were so intense, so mind-numbingly unbearable, that he could not hear himself scream, and was absolutely helpless to stop it.

He wanted to die; anything to end this torture.

Alfred was not nearly as tight as Ivan might have wanted him to be, but this was good enough. Anything was worth hearing that lovely voice, those beautiful screams that were to die for.

Russia could take any punishment for this. It would be worth it.

America's warmth and those sweet noises seemed to envelop Ivan in its soothing measures. He had lost control long by now. He could feel wetness cover his dick from the blood now starting to pool around Alfred and stick to Russia's bare feet.

Not that he really cared, though.

That same, impalpable pain still lived on even after Alfred felt Russia hesitantly pull out. _It _had pushed mercilessly into every nerve bundle.

It just hurt so, so much. He felt blood. He felt it, and when he mustered the strength to look down, he saw it, too.

Ivan pulled America gently into his chest; he wrapped his arms around the madly shaking blond in a comforting motion. Alfred was too scared, and too sore to resist.

America felt himself lowered down into the innocently white sheets. Or so they seemed until one caught sight of the newly shed blood covering its surface at the head of the bed.

Russia pulled Alfred closer, burying his pale face into America's hair and breathing in his scent. It was soft, like vanilla.

He murmured one last word to his newly gained lover.

"Я люблю тебя, Америка. Я люблю тебя."

* * *

**… God I'm awful at lemon scenes. Oh well.**

**Russian translation:**

**Да здравствует землю бесплатно- Long live the land of the free**

**Я люблю тебя, Америка. Я люблю тебя- I love you, America. I love you.**


End file.
